


Ex Cathedra

by Fudgyokra



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [7]
Category: Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Degradation, Episode: s01e12-13 Apprentice Parts 1-2, Facials, Humiliation, Intersex Omegas, Kneeling, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 02:07:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19367929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: "That's where you belong. Do you understand me?"





	Ex Cathedra

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Forced to Kneel/Bow (+Sladin A/B/O), requested by two anons on Tumblr.

His first day under Slade’s mentorship was fraught with every facet of hatred he thought his body capable of feeling, beginning with a bitterness that could not breathe from where it was trapped beneath his ribs. It swelled with every passing hour until he had to lash out, striking when the humiliation of being subjugated became too much, only to end each time with the press of a button: The ever-looming threat that Slade could be the executor of the Titans’ collective demise.

The second day was infinitely worse.

It came in the form of a wave of heat, a flash in the night while Dick tossed and turned in his cot. Past all the resentment, both at Slade for catching him and at himself for being caught, he felt a strange stirring between his legs. All at once, every single-minded path to revenge or survival crumbled, giving way to blind panic. He wasn’t able to deal with this privately, and with Slade lurking around at every odd hour, there would be no way he wouldn’t smell what was going on. Even now, probably. And it was only just the beginning—the tender days before the actual heat, meant to prime his body for everything he would need to begin his breeding years.

This was his _first._

Nothing could stop the weak whine that unsheathed itself from his throat. He would have to do his best to hide it, but knew in a place too deep to be ignored that it would be fruitless against the alpha who had named himself Dick’s captor.

By day five, his composure was at its thinnest with no hope of re-calibration. Slade had, either through acts of chivalry or disinterest, ignored the fact Dick was sloppy during training, panting at the barest physical demand, and flighty when things were asked of him. It was almost a miracle, and that alone should have been a proper warning sign. Slade didn’t offer miracles, nor mercy.

When Dick had dropped his guard that night, having been released from his duties just long enough to prepare for the pain of slipping beneath his sheets and writhing in unfulfilled want, he was approached. The scowl he tried for fell laughably flat, which Slade pointed out with a rude chuckle in addition to his calculating head tilt.

“You’ve not been faring well, have you, Robin?”

He felt completely cornered, like a lamb to the slaughter. Still, he grit out, “I’m fine,” in defense of his pride, which he felt slipping through his fingers merely from the way the man looked at him. Without proper guards, Dick knew he could be scented from across the scant distance between them, and he wasn’t dumb enough to think Slade didn’t see his designation as another thing that made him inferior. Even so, it meant everything to him that he stand tall, avoid letting his instincts take over lest they make him a fool right in the spotlight that was the cruel gleam in his enemy’s eye.

Slade tutted like one might at a misbehaving puppy, and Dick’s face colored at the sound. “You’re hopeless,” the man said, almost fondly. “It sounds like you’re in need of an alpha’s assistance…now, where oh where is daddy when you need him?”

The flush in his cheeks quickly became a burn spanning all the way from his neck to his ears. He had a litany of things he wanted to say, but spoke none of them. How __dare__ this criminal mention Batman, and how __dare__ he speak down to Dick like he was a desperate omega in need of—

“—further training,” Slade finished, dragging Dick back to a reality where he hadn’t been listening and so had no defenses prepped for the way Slade circled around him. It felt strange to be appraised, but among the appropriate hums and haws, he shuddered a little when Slade paused behind him and placed one gentle hand on his lower back.

“Don’t touch me!” he spat, working against every fiber in him that mourned the loss of heat when Slade withdrew.

Again, the man tutted. Quite handily, the sound unearthed days’ worth of disdain, complete with the desire to strike thrumming through Dick’s body like an electric current. He twisted around, fingers curled into a fist, and threw the punch that sealed his fate toward the sound of Slade’s deep, calm voice demanding, “Kneel. _Now._ ”

His fist slammed into Slade’s and was stopped, his arm jarred by the force of impact and buzzing afterward from the way he was held in place. He tried to jerk out of the grasp once, twice, three times. Afterward, when his shoulders had sagged and he’d flickered his gaze everywhere in the room but at Slade’s face, the man repeated himself, this time with a growl of inflection that couldn’t be missed. “I said _kneel,_  boy.”

Dick knew what his biology demanded of him, and he knew what omegas were supposed to feel when deferring to their supposed betters, but it was all hypothetical. He had never experienced the bone-deep chill of disappointing one’s master, and, without his brain’s permission, his body trembled and swayed until, with one more repetition and a harder grasp on his hand, he sunk to his knees in front of Slade with a whine that hardly sounded to him like his own voice.

Internally, he felt shame strike so deeply it ached; externally, he felt, with a sense of horror heaping itself onto the terrible things he was already going through, the way his suit was uncomfortably wet between his thighs. The fabric clung to him in places he wished it wouldn’t, but the slick preparing him for things he desperately didn’t want from Sladeof all people flowed from him in a rush so forceful he felt it, and with it arose another pathetic whine.

"Good boy." A hollow praise for a hollow act of submission. “That’s where you belong. Do you understand me?”

All over, he felt impossibly hot, as if a fever was ravaging him from the inside out. He opened his mouth to curse or fight back, but when Slade took the opportunity and shoved his thumb between Dick’s parted lips, he only keened and twitched his hips forward. His body betrayed him leagues before his brain ever would, and the look he received was the leer of a man who’d found the perfect weakness to exploit. Dick feared, for the first time in his captivity, that his mind might be the next to go. If his own willpower couldn’t stop his thighs from trembling and tensing when Slade’s boot shoved its way between them, and his pride couldn’t withstand the shame of being forced to his knees right before the man’s belt, what could be said of all his logic and training? What if he spent eternity here, hating everything done to him? Worse: What if he _liked_ it?

Slade’s thumb disappeared from his mouth and smeared saliva across his bottom lip, the remaining large span of that palm still tucked beneath the boy’s chin to hold him in place.

“Keep it open, just like that,” Slade said, and Dick felt a shiver travel up his spine at the command. His brain screamed at him to move, to run, to fight, but obeying his instincts and the command alike rewarded him with a spike of phantom pleasure between his legs, where he tightened and relaxed rhythmically as he unwillingly prepared himself to take his master’s knot, or whatever else might be provided.

He found himself wishing for a split second of delirium that he would indeed be given _something:_  that Slade wouldn’t leave him empty, writhing in frantic search on the training room floor by himself. Somehow, that seemed even more shameful than what he was already doing.

Seconds ticked by painfully slowly. Then, the sound of a zipper unleashing its teeth, baring the beast beneath centimeters from Dick’s open mouth.

He felt his eyes widen before he could stop himself from reacting, but it seemed impossible to control any of his actions, least of all once Slade grabbed him by the hair when he tried to pull back. The most humiliating part was that he conceded to his previously issued demand and still remained open-mouthed, panting with his tongue lolling as the alarmingly-sized cock forced its way between his lips and down his throat, deeper and deeper until he gagged from the weight of it.

Slade held him there with one hand, the other feeding himself in until there was no more left to take, and his fingertips brushed the sensitive, drool-slick corner of Dick’s mouth where it was stretched obscenely around the intrusion.

He did not choke; a talent he’d honed via manners unrelated to sex, but seeming to please Slade, regardless. The idea that he’d done well for this monster sent another unbidden thrill through him, forcing a muffled keen from him that had Slade growling and gripping his hair harder.

For several seconds, he was forced to even out his breathing and taste the man on his tongue, the muscles of his throat fluttering every so often when Slade made the barest jerk of movement. Then, finally, he retracted and slammed back in, setting the brutal pace for the punishment Dick suffered through, unable to do anything but mewl and twitch and claw at Slade’s armored thighs for purchase.

Just when he’d begun to think the shame couldn’t root itself any deeper in his system, Slade pulled him off and considered him thoughtfully. “You see now, what you’re good for.” The words hit like a punch. Dick couldn’t even recoil from the force of them with the hand still fisted in his hair. Still, Slade continued, stroking himself with his free hand right before Dick’s watery eyes, “Think me cruel all you’d like, Robin, but it’s the world that made you this way, not I.”

“I’m not—” he started weakly, only to be interrupted by the hard press of a cock back in his throat, shutting him up with an embarrassing choking noise on top of the degradation from being cut off as if his pleas weren't even heard. The meaning couldn’t be any clearer that his voice meant nothing; it was his mouth that held use for Slade.

Dehumanized and silenced, Dick slumped forward, lashes fluttering against the sting of tears that wanted out. And, through it all, his hips still ground forward against Slade’s boot, searching desperately for friction.

“Don’t worry,” Slade said, voice deceptively soothing in the wake of Dick’s crumbled ego, “I’ll put you in your place yet, boy.”

Dick shuddered visibly, and even he couldn’t tell if it was from disgust or relief. It was only after Slade added a growled, “Your alpha’s going to take good care of you” that Dick gave himself entirely to the over-warm flush of pride and usefulness. It was a relief to be cared for. To be told what to do, to be owned. Beneath that, he still felt the loathing and fear, but the haze his brain created for him seemed to be steadily wiping all of that away.

“Unzip.” A command, not a suggestion. Dick treated it as such and frantically wormed his hand underneath the sole of Slade’s boot, undoing his own belt and pants until his cock, angrily red and leaking, sprung upward, demanding attention. Beneath, the slick of his cunt left a visible and incriminating stain on the fabric of the suit Slade had forced him into just days prior. “Now,” the man said with a pleased lilt to his voice that drove Dick nuts with misplaced lust, “touch yourself. Show me how low you can get for a little pleasure. That’s all your kind ever wants, isn’t it?”

Past the spit-slick sounds of his mouth being used, Dick could hear his throat tighten around a sob that only made it halfway out. He squeezed his eyes closed against the shame when he followed orders, wrapping one small fist around his cock and letting the other gently swipe around his folds, stimulating in the most comfortable way he knew how.

Slade grunted, sounding fairly pleased, and again Dick felt the need to preen at the approval. Despite the faint omnipresence of nausea for his situation, his primary needs were being met, and the desperation to be filled led him to do something he’d not yet tried; hesitantly, he pushed two fingers into his cunt, whining at such a pitch in reaction that Slade pulled from his mouth and left him drooling without it.

Even with the knowledge he was being watched, he couldn’t seem to stop rocking against his own ministrations, both foreign and familiar, his eyes hazy and far-away the closer he got to orgasm. God, he was going to cum—and Slade was going to be the reason for it. He’d never live it down, even if he got the chance to escape. He’d see the way that slow grin stretched across the man’s mouth for the rest of his life, whether he remained trapped with him or got the chance to look upon his friends’ faces again, well-meaning and innocent. Happy to see him despite the things he’d done. They could never know about this, or Dick knew he’d feel everything in himself shatter.

“Please,” he sobbed, thighs wobbling where he still held the kneel he’d been coerced into. He didn’t know quite what he was begging for: to be touched, to be allowed to cum, or to be watched,he couldn’t tell. It could have even been a nebulous plea for Slade not to let the Titans know about this, to keep it between them. Whether or not he knew, he repeated it to himself in a mantra—a steady stream of _please, please, please,_ hisvoice pitching higher with each one.

By the end, he was a mess, tears tracking down his cheeks as he rode his own fingers, bouncing his hips up to meet the messy glide of his hand on his cock, all while Slade looked on. When the man’s hand cupped the back of Dick’s neck, he leaned forward of his own volition, mouth open and desperate for Slade to shove his cock back in.

He didn’t. Instead, Dick was made to cum on his own without his alpha’s interference, aching in parts of him that, had he not already started, he would have surely begun crying on the spot from the frustration. The orgasm felt incomplete and weak, but he rode it out anyway, his bottom lip now caught between his teeth while Slade jerked himself to his own completion all across Dick’s sweaty, flushed face.

The denial did its intended job, for once the aftershocks subsided and Dick had to slide his fingers from himself and face the gut-deep dissatisfaction of not being filled while he came, he realized with a faint tremor that he didn’t only want but _needed_ Slade to take him, to knot and claim him properly. The thought didn’t even sting anymore, and that was the nature of the beast.

Shakily, he huffed a small-sounding: “Did I do all right?”

The grin on Slade’s face was cruel, but Dick reveled in it all the same. “My boy,” he drawled, “you did exactly as you were supposed to.”


End file.
